Truth of the Matter
by Serenity134
Summary: An old friend calls on Gillian Foster for help. When she asks Lightman to assist he has to determine if her friend is lying or not.


With all due respect to the creators and fans of Lie to Me. Enjoy!

* * *

The glass and steel framework of the building that housed The Lightman Group gave Gillian Foster a feeling of safety and comfort. Like the Cube where they interviewed most of their clients the break room seemed open yet secure. She could see everything but was protected from the sounds and the chaos around her. As she poured herself a cup of coffee she reflected on how the ability to see the people while being shielded from the noise that they created was oddly peaceful.

Until the moment was shattered as Cal Lightman came striding through the door. As usual he was a vibrating bundle of energy, wrapped up tight and ready to explode. In a brief moment he took in his entire surroundings, sized her up and offered her a look that would have cowered the most deadly of predators.

But Foster was used to his posturing so she stood, coffee cup in one hand and the pot in the other as an amused grin spread across her face. She refused to engage him, nearly baiting him with her smile, until he finally said, "Hey."

"'Good morning' is the way most people would greet each other, Cal." Foster set down her coffee mug and poured another cup for her partner. As she handed it to him she said, "Good morning."

Lightman took the coffee and nodded once. "Right. Now that we have that settled I'd like to iron out another little problem. The Hinton account."

With a heavy sigh Foster set down the coffee and turned back to Lightman, both hands held up in a defensive gesture. "Cal, I know that this is a difficult situation, but we need the money." Her voice held a note of warning and as he opened his mouth to speak she raised one hand higher and cut him off. "We can't afford to turn down this account, and part of the agreement is that you handle it personally. He doesn't want Loker, he doesn't want Torres and he doesn't want me. If I could make it any easier on you I would."

He took a step forward but she cut him off again. "Can we please not do this this morning? I know he's a pain. But be patient. Please."

When she was done Lightman stared at her for a few moments and finally said, "Finished?"

She nodded and he said, "Fantastic. What I came to tell you was that Hinton cancelled our appointment again. Third time this week, as a matter of fact. Heidi's going to sort things out and try to reschedule." He took a sip of his coffee. "And since when do we let the clients tell us who we assign to a case?"

At her exasperated expression he smiled, raised his coffee mug and said, "Excellent coffee, by the way. Cheers." He darted in, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and softened his tone. "Morning, Darling."

As he marched out of the room Foster picked up her cup and sat down in one of the chairs. She took a moment to enjoy the aroma of the coffee, shook her head in amazement and then couldn't help but laugh. No matter how long she had known Cal Lightman life around him had never been predictable.

* * *

Winton Wilder stared out the window of his study, watching the groundskeeper attend to the lawn of the regulation croquet court that had once been a sprawling back yard. Ever the fan of propriety, Wilder had built the croquet court so that he could walk out to it from any of the number of decks that jutted off of the back of his spacious manor home.

He enjoyed the weekend matches with his wealthy friends and business partners and was particularly fond of the white pants and sweaters worn by the men, and the colorful sun dresses and hats adorning the women. It reminded him of simpler times, when he was a child living with his grandparents, sheltering under the trees on hot summer days while the grown-ups enjoyed their lawn parties.

If he could he would have spent his entire week at the manor, instead of driving into the city to stay in a small apartment and work in the offices of the business that his family had owned for generations. Still, he reflected, he enjoyed the work, knowing that the company that his great-great-grandfather had co-founded generated revenue that not only kept up the family estate but also sent donations to many worthy causes around the globe.

He finally tore his attention away from the emerald green grass and sat at his desk to go through the morning mail. His house keeper had left it in a small, wicker basket as was her usual routine. On top was an 11 by 13 inch manila envelope marked 'urgent'. When he opened it and read the letter inside his face paled, his body seemed to go numb and he dropped the paper onto his desk. He suddenly sat back in his chair staring at the envelope as if it would catch fire at any second.

When he found the ability to move again he dug out his address book, flipped through it and then grabbed the receiver of his phone and punched in a series of numbers on the keypad. After several rings a female voice answered and Wilder said, "Gillian? Winton Wilder. I know it's been a while since we've spoken, but I need your help."

* * *

After she hung up the phone Foster left her office and headed to find the one man she knew who could help. Lightman was draped over the front counter making notes on a piece of paper, his tongue dangling out of one side of his mouth. Gillian watched him balance on the balls of his feet, stretching to reach over the tall, front counter. His black shirt was untucked from his jeans and the shirt tails hung loose, giving him a deceptively casual appearance. He finally glanced up at the receptionist and said with a hint of annoyance, "Next Thursday is the best he can do?"

Heidi nodded and spun her desk calendar around for Lightman to see. "It's the only time that worked for both of your schedules. If you want I can try to shift some things around."

"No!" Lightman stopped scribbling notes, pushed away from the counter and waved one hand in the air. "Hinton's played this game long enough. He can bloody well wait until next Thursday."

When he spun around Gillian was standing behind him. He started down the hall, and as she fell into step beside him he darted a look at her and said, "What?

"Is your schedule still clear this afternoon?"

"Thanks to our friend Hinton I have nothing until Emily shows up after school." He lifted his arm to glance at his watch and scrunched up his face. "I promised to take her shoe shopping. Honestly, can't I just give her some money or something?"

"The shoes aren't the point, Cal. Emily wants to spend time with you. Somewhere other than here at the office, or at home where you're still fixated on work. She wants to get you into her environment so she can feel like she's in control for a change."

"Really?" Cal acted as if this were a ridiculous concept. "And shoe shopping does that for a teenaged girl, does it?"

Foster laughed. "The shoes are the means to the ends. Besides, all women like shoes. We'll use any excuse to get a man to buy us a pair."

Cal glanced down at her feet, one eyebrow arched. "Well, if I'd known that I would have gotten all of the women in the office loafers last year instead of handing out cash for a Christmas bonus. Anyway, what do you need?"

Gillian grabbed his arm and slowed him to a stop, turning to face him. Though there was a smile on her face Cal could see that there was no matching emotion behind it. "I was wondering if you wanted to have lunch with me. We've been so busy that we haven't been able to do anything spontaneous like that for a while."

He studied her face, noting the sadness in her eyes and the slight downward hitch of her chin. They had known each other for a very long time, and, try as she might, Gillian Foster had rarely been able to hide her emotions from him. He tried to deflect her obvious pain by lightening his tone and grinning broadly. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

At this Foster offered him a genuine smile. "No, I was actually hoping that you would come to meet an old friend."

"Have you asked him on a date?" Lightman asked suspiciously.

"Hardly. He's an old friend of my father's. Emphasis on the word old. They were in business together for a while." She started down the hall again. "He called this morning and said he needs my help. Something about a threat to his business. I just figured it would be better if there were two of us there. If you're busy it's not a problem. I can ask Loker or Torres."

This time it was Lightman's turn to stop her. He held onto her arm for a moment, looking around the hallway, then he steered her into his office and closed the door behind them. He turned to face her and took her by both arms so she couldn't deflect or hide her face from him. "What's going on?"

Foster stared at him a moment and then her shoulders slumped and her eyes shifted downward. He lifted her chin so he could watch her face and she said, "Winton Wilder owns a conglomerate that has subsidiaries in a number of third world countries. Part of what his company does is to donate a portion of all profits to relief organizations in each of those countries. Today he received a package in the mail with a threatening letter and some damaging documents."

"What kind of documents?" Lightman asked.

"I don't know. He just said that he needed my help and asked if I could meet him for lunch."

"All right." Lightman drew back his lips and sucked a breath of air through his teeth. "Sounds like he might be being blackmailed. Have you talked to Reynolds?"

"No. When I got off the phone my first instinct was to look for you." She shook her head in embarrassment, suddenly feeling like she was making more of this than she needed to. "Look, Cal, if you don't have time..."

He held a finger in front of her face, leaned in close and locked eyes with her. "You know better than that."

He felt the relief flow through her as she nodded her gratitude. "He and my father were close. He even gave my father the start-up money so he could launch his own business. We used to vacation with his family. He's a good man, Cal…"

"Stop right there, Luv." Lightman shook his head emphatically. "It's not like that. Not between you and I. You've been there for me more times than I can remember, and you've never asked why you should help. Well, except maybe that one time with the three clowns and the funeral director, but I think that anyone would have had a hard time believing that that was research." He rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. "The point is, if you ask for my help I'm there. No questions asked. You never have to qualify the request. Understand?"

She nodded and said, "Okay, then how about noon time. I'll meet you here in the office?"

"I'll be waiting."

* * *

At the restaurant Wilder was sitting at a window table when Lightman and Foster arrived. He was watching out the window but gave no indication of recognizing Gillian when she walked by.

"That him?" Cal asked.

Gillian nodded. "How'd you know?"

"Because that man looks like he has the weight of the world resting on his shoulders." Cal pulled open the door, waiting for Foster to go through first.

When they got to the table Wilder immediately stood and offered Gillian a warm smile. "Gillian , how nice to see you after all these years. You look absolutely wonderful."

Gillian kissed him on the cheek and then made introductions. "Winton, this is my colleague, Dr. Cal Lightman."

While the men shook hands Wilder said, "Thank you for coming."

Cal held onto Wilder's hand for a fraction of a second longer than was necessary. "Any friend of Gill's…"

He let the sentence trail off and Foster knew that there was good reason why he hadn't finished the sentiment. He would reserve judgment on Wilder as he did with all others, basing it on his own observations and not on friendships or assumptions.

They sat down and the waiter came over, asking for their drinks order. "White wine," Gillian said. Lightman held up two fingers, indicating to make it two glasses instead of one. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, watching for tell-tale indicators in Wilder's face and body language.

When the waiter was gone Gillian faced Wilder again. "So. Why don't you tell us what happened this morning."

"Things were fairly normal," Wilder began. "The house keeper was there, and so was my grounds man."

"What about Sally?" Gillian asked. "Was she home?"

Wilder's face took on a look of sadness. "Sally died a couple of years ago, Gillian. Cancer."

Gillian nodded in understanding and said, "I'm very sorry. I hadn't heard."

"Sally," Lightman interrupted. "Was that your wife?"

Wilder nodded.

"Right, then. Go on."

Wilder glanced between Lightman and Foster, and when Gillian nodded in encouragement he said, "When I opened the mail I found the letter, and a folder containing some documents that make it look as if I'm using my company to launder money illegally."

"Are you?" Lightman suddenly leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table-top and folding his hands together.

"Am I what?"

"Are you using your company to launder money?" Lightman peered at the older man. "Is it for the mob? Or maybe some sort of drug operation? Where are you operating out of? Ecuador? Costa Rica?"

Wilder's face colored a deep red. "How dare you! This company was started by my forefathers. I would never risk the reputation they built for something as absurd as money."

"Fair enough." Lightman leaned back in his chair again and when he relaxed his posture he saw Wilder relax as well, even while the man's face remained rigid. "I believe you, Mr. Wilder. I do. I just needed to see it for myself. Now, tell me. What's your favorite color?"

"I beg your pardon?" Wilder became tense again. He glared at Lightman and then turned to Gillian. "I thought you said he was the best?"

Gillian patted his arm, trying to calm him. "Cal is just trying to establish a baseline. By asking you if you were laundering money he was able to tell how you react when you're upset. And by asking routine questions, like what your favorite color is, he can tell how you react under normal circumstances."

"I'm done here, anyway." Cal suddenly pushed his chair back and stood up, reaching into his wallet and taking out a twenty dollar bill. He set it on the table and told Gillian, "This is for the wine. You drink mine, Luv. I have to get back to the office."

Gillian stood and said, "You're leaving?"

"Yep."

"Why?"

Cal directed his reply to Wilder. "I don't think that this is the place to discuss your problem. It's a bit too public for my comfort." He turned his attention back to Gillian and said, "Why don't the two of you enjoy your lunch and we'll schedule something back at the office to continue this."

"Are you sure?" Gillian asked

"I am." He dug in his pocket and took out his keys offering them to Foster. "Take my car. I'll catch a cab."

As Gillian took the keys Cal leaned across the table to shake hands with Wilder again. "I have an appointment with my daughter this afternoon to take her shoe shopping, but other than that I'm all yours. You and Gill can work out the details."

* * *

A little over an hour later Gillian walked into Cal's office and said, "That was a dramatic exit."

"Did you really tell him I was the best?' Lightman asked her.

She ignored the question. "Want to tell me why you left like that?"

Cal leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap, swiveling slightly from side to side. "I didn't like the light in that place. I couldn't see his face very well."

"We were right by a window."

"Doesn't matter." Cal waved her comment aside. "Besides, you have to admit it was a bit public. Never discuss life-changing business deals where the waiter and the strangers at the next table can eavesdrop."

"And?" Gillian asked patiently.

"Well, it's a bit like the shoe shopping thing, isn't it?" Lightman said. "If he had something to hide, and was involved in money laundering, he'd want to keep everything under his control. Keep the discussions in a place that he was comfortable with. But, by forcing his hand and changing the meeting to here, a strange place that he has no knowledge of and can't control in the least, his willingness to come shows that he's eager to have this looked into. And that he fears the people who sent him that package more than he fears us."

"You're starting to think like a psychologist. I kind of like it." Gillian walked over and sat on the corner of his desk, setting a brown paper bag on the floor beside her. "What time is Emily going to be here?"

Cal held up four fingers.

"Have you eaten, yet?"

He shook his head no and Gillian said, "Good." She reached for the bag on the floor and took out a Styrofoam container. "You can eat my leftovers."

When she opened the container Lightman peered inside. "What is that?"

"Chicken Florentine."

He pointed at the food. "What's all that stuff in the sauce?"

"It's spinach and artichokes. They're good for you."

Lightman leaned back in his chair with a skeptical look on his face. "I don't like eating anything out of a Styrofoam container."

"So I guess it's lucky that we have plates and silverware in the break room," Gillian said. "Give me a minute and I'll heat this up for you."

She started out of the office and then glanced back, "And, Cal? Just because Emily wants to be in control for a change doesn't mean that she's got something to hide."

* * *

"I kind of like these brown and black boots." Emily Lightman held up an ankle high brown boot with polished black heel and toe caps. She sat on a bench next to her father in the shoe store with an array of boxes and shoes scattered on the floor around them.

"Aren't those men's shoes?" Cal asked her.

Emily smiled. "Yeah? So?"

"So I thought you'd be buying something more like this." Cal looked around, reached over to a display and took a Hello Kitty sneaker from the shelf.

Emily wrinkled her nose. "Dad, those are for, like, a four year old."

"Last time I took you shoe shopping you were about four. I forgot how much fun it was."

"You're so full of crap." Emily leaned into her father's shoulder, using him for support as she put the boot back on. "You hate shopping."

"But I love spending time with you. Up you go." Cal gave Emily a shove and she got up and started walking around trying out the boots. He sprawled out on the bench, leaning back against the wall, watching his daughter, wondering when she had become this self-aware young woman, and feeling just a little freaked out about the entire process.

Emily turned her foot backward and forward admiring the boot in the mirror and Cal stood up, wrapped his arm around her shoulders and said, "You're right. They're perfect."

"Really?" Emily asked, amazement and happiness flooding her voice.

"Really," he assured her.

She beamed a smile at her father and said, "Let's see if they have them in your size."

"You're not serious."

"Why not? We could have matching boots."

"I…" Cal looked at her boot again and said, "There is no bloody way I'm wearing those things."

Emily started to giggle and then dropped onto the bench so she could change back into her own shoes. "That's good because it would be a little weird to be caught wearing the same shoes as my father."

"It was your idea."

"I know." Emily boxed up her new boots and tucked them under one arm. She stood back up and grabbed Cal's hand, dragging him down one of the aisles in the store. "I was just messing with you. But I think I saw a pair of black leather shoes over here that would look really good on you."

* * *

In the car, on the way back to drop Emily off at her house, Cal listened to his daughter tell him about her school work, her friends, the boy she wished would ask her out, and the difficulties of living with a mother who was a lawyer and sometimes forgot to leave the interrogations at the office.

While she talked Cal kept one ear tuned to the radio, a station that Emily had picked, because he had been told by Foster, on countless occasions, that if he really wanted to get into the mind of a teenager he should listen to the music they listened to and watch the movies and television that they watched.

He had to admit that the music was good. Sort of a soft pop/alternative blend with a bit of hip hop and world music tossed into the mix. It was so good, in fact, that he finally realized that he was paying more attention to it than to his daughter, and when he realized that she had stopped talking all together he glanced over and saw her staring at him. "What?"

"You okay?" she asked, more out of curiosity than concern.

"I'm fine, Em. Just a bit distracted."

"By what?"

"By the music." Which, he reasoned, wasn't really a lie. "It's really good. You should program that station into one of the presets."

"Okay." Emily leaned over to program in the station, a small smile on her face. When she was done she asked, "Now do you want to tell me what's really on your mind?"

He watched her for a moment with a feeling of pride and a little resentment. "You're getting good at this game, aren't you, Luv?"

"I've got a good tutor." She swiveled around in her seat to face him, tucking her legs underneath her. "So, give it up. What's on your mind?"

He thought for a moment and said, "Okay. Hypothetically, if you came to me and told me that one of your friends needed my help because he was being blackmailed, and then I found out he was guilty and was trying to cover things up, how would you feel when he got into trouble?"

Emily's eyes popped open. "Wow. Where'd all that come from?"

"It's hypothetical," Lightman told her. When she hesitated he said, "You started this. Answer the question."

"Well," Emily pulled her legs up tighter underneath her and wrapped her arms around her knees. "We're talking about you, right? Doing the investigation, I mean?"

"Yep."

"Then I guess I'd have to accept that my friend was a creep."

"Really? Just like that?"

"Yeah," Emily said. "I mean, let's face it, Dad. You don't lie. If you told me that my friend was a jerk I'd believe you. I'd probably be upset, but I'd eventually get over it. So, who asked you for help?"

"It's just hypothetical."

"No it isn't." Emily watched her father's face, trying to see the small details that he always saw. He was nearly as good at hiding his tells as he was at seeing them in others. "Remember what I just said about how you don't lie? Well, what I should have said was that you don't lie when it's serious. But I know that sometimes you have to lie to protect other people, and I know that's what you're doing now. So, was it Mom or was it Gillian?"

"It was none of your business, that's what it was." Cal pulled up in front of the house and pointed a finger at his daughter. "Not a word of this conversation to anyone, right?"

"Right." She leaned over to give him a hug. "Thanks for the shoes, Dad."

"No problem." Cal kissed her on the cheek and said, "I love you, Em."

"I love you, too." She climbed out of the car and then leaned back in through the door. "Don't forget to wear your new shoes tomorrow. You have to break them in, okay? Not just let them sit around in the box."

She started to walk up the drive and then pointed back at his car. "Wear them! Tomorrow!"

* * *

Strutting down the halls of The Lightman Group the next morning Cal passed the receptionist's desk, grabbed his messages and headed for his office. He passed Eli Loker at the entrance to the video lab and snapped his fingers. "Oi! My office. Now."

Loker gave him a baleful look and felt a body pressing into him from behind. His colleague, Rhea Torres, propped her chin on his shoulder and watched Lightman storm into his office. After Torres backed away Loker turned around and she said, "Wow. What did you do?"

"I have no idea."

From the hallway they heard Lightman bellow, "You two need an engraved invitation, or what?"

With a sigh of relief Loker smiled at Torres. "Guess I'm not the only one in trouble."

They entered Lightman's office and he waved them over to his desk. "What are you two working on?"

"I'm wrapping up the Newton High drug file," Torres said.

"And I'm watching video of enraged orangutans," Loker told him. "Who'd've thought I could get paid to do that?"

"Not any more your not." Lightman held up a folder and offered it across the desk to Loker. "As of now you're both working on a blackmailing case with me. It's a friend of Foster's. I need a full background check on him and his company, and when I say full I mean absolutely the whole nine yards. You understand?"

Loker nodded and Lightman continued. "You dig up anything negative and you come straight to me. If Foster asks any questions you tell her nothing but the good stuff."

"Why?" Torres asked. "She's a big girl."

"Eh?"

"If this guy is into something bad she deserves to know."

Lightman stood up and rounded the desk, quickly and decisively invading Torres' personal space. "She needs to know only after we've checked and double checked every detail." He glanced between the two junior members of the team. "She needs to know only what and when I decide to tell her." His eyes bored into Torres' again. "You have any problem with that?"

"No."

"Good." Lightman started out of his office and said, "You're in charge, Loker. Anything goes wrong and I'm blaming you."

He headed down the hall and knocked on the door to the small office that they had given to Agent Reynolds of the FBI. Without waiting for an invitation Lightman barged in and announced, "I need a favor."

"Now there's a surprise," Reynolds said.

Cal plopped himself into one of the chairs by the desk. "Aren't we a bit cheeky first thing in the morning."

"It's early," Reynolds growled. "I had a late night."

"Oh, yeah?" Lightman smiled across the desk. "Out for a bit of fun were you?"

"Out for a bit of surveillance," Reynolds said. "Remember, this isn't my only responsibility with the Bureau. What do you need?"

"I need forensics work done on some documents that we'll be receiving this afternoon."

"What kind of work and what kind of documents?"

Lightman shrugged and spread his hands in the air. "Fingerprints, handwriting analysis. Whatever you can muster. It's for a blackmailing case we took on yesterday."

"Blackmail? How come I haven't heard anything about it until now?"

"Because Foster thought I could solve it faster," Lightman taunted. He turned serious and said, "It's a friend of hers."

"And you guys have no problem covering up a few felonies between friends?"

"We don't know if it's a felony, yet. But when we do we'll let you know."

Without missing a beat Reynolds said, "Fine. You want forensics, you're going to have to include me in the investigation."

"Not a problem." Cal smiled and stood back up, heading for the door. "I'll have copies of the file made for you."

As Lightman left the office Reynolds felt relief for having cut off a potential legal nightmare that easily. Until he realized that Lightman had agreed to let him in on the case a bit too quickly.

* * *

When Gillian entered Cal's office later that morning she found him in his study, digging through a box of files on a shelf. He was in his stocking feet and she saw a pair of black leather shoes kicked under the coffee table. "If I'd known shoes were optional today I would have left mine at home."

Without taking his eyes off the file Lightman said, "Knock yourself out. I seem to remember that you have very nice feet."

"Exactly why are you barefoot?"

"I'm not. I'm wearing socks." He threw the file back into the box and spun around to face Foster. "Emily picked out new shoes for me last night. I'm breaking them in."

"Under the coffee table?" She reached down to pick up the shoes and handed them to him. "You have to actually wear them in order to break them in, Cal. Come on. Winton's in my office."

"This soon?" Cal balanced on one foot and began putting on his shoes.

"Like you said, he's eager to get this over with."

As they headed down the hall Gillian said, "Those are nice shoes."

"They're black," Cal said. "I'll give them that."

"You don't like them?"

"I like that my daughter picked them out for me."

When they entered the office Winton Wilder stood up and offered his hand to Lightman. "Dr. Lightman, I appreciate you making time for me this morning. I feel I should apologize for yesterday. I was a bit brusque."

Cal shook his head. "No, I was the one who was brusque. You handled yourself all right."

"I suppose I'm just not used to people being as direct as you were," the older man said.

Cal offered him a chair. "Well, if we're going to be working together I suggest you get used to it. Those questions I asked you yesterday will seem like nothing in a couple of days."

"I understand," Wilder told him. "Please, ask whatever you need."

"All right." Cal pulled a chair up in front of Wilder and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He studied Wilder's face for a moment and asked, "When did you have your stroke?"

Wilder chuckled. "Apparently you are as good as Gillian told me." He cleared his throat. "I had a mild stroke the week after my wife died. The doctor said that it was brought on by the stress of her death, but that it was inevitable anyway. I have a mild paralysis on the upper right quadrant, but most people don't even notice it."

"No, they wouldn't," Cal said. He pointed to the area just above and to the outside of Wilder's eyebrow. "But there is a stiffness there that I noticed yesterday at the restaurant."

"Is that a problem?" Wilder asked.

"Depends on how many times you lie to me."

Wilder glanced at Gillian and she said, "Everyone lies, Winton. Most people don't even realize it. Cal is very perceptive at picking up even the smallest deceptions."

"I don't so much care that you do lie," Cal told him. "It's more about why you lie. But we'll get to that later."

He shoved his chair across the floor and let it roll until he was next to Gillian's desk. Then he grabbed a folder and a pen and scooted back over to Wilder. After reading through the file Cal asked, "Do you have any idea who would want to blackmail you?"

Wilder shrugged. "It could be many people. My company tries to funnel money to as many deserving organizations as possible, but there are always those less deserving that think they should be receiving some of the proceeds."

"How do you decide who's deserving and who's not?"

"We vet every organization thoroughly."

"Now, see, that was deflection. It wasn't really an answer." Cal pointed at Wilder. " I think what you meant to say is that you decide who is and who isn't worthy."

Wilder's genial manner melted. "What are you insinuating?"

"Nothing," Cal told him. "But I can tell you how it would be if it were me. Around here I'm in charge. It's my company and I make the rules. What I say goes and people had better get used to it." He saw Wilder's eyebrows pull down, a sure sign that he was becoming angry. The older man's eyes slid to Gillian and then back and Cal continued. "I imagine it's the same with you. If someone's pissed because they're not getting a piece of the financial pie they're probably pissed with you."

"I suppose that's true," Wilder said. He sat up a little straighter in the chair and pulled the front of his jacket together.

"Do you have anyone in particular in mind?" Lightman asked.

Wilder shook his head no, but when he did the left side of his mouth contracted. Cal pointed to him and said, "Well, there's the first lie."

The corner of Wilder's mouth twitched up into a smirk and he said, "There are a few I would consider to me more likely than others. If you like I could write you a list."

"Excellent," Cal said. "Write them out in the order of who's most to least likely." He handed the folder and the pen to Wilder and then got up, indicating for Foster to follow him out of the room.

When they were out in the hall he said, "When he's done with the list give it to Reynolds, would you?"

"Reynolds knows?" Gillian asked.

Cal nodded and at the look on her face he said, "We're going to need his help. And if this turns out to be blackmail it's a crime. You know how I feel obligated to obey the law."

"Speaking of lies…"

"You might as well know that Loker and Torres are in on this, too." Cal told her. "When he's done in there I want you to interview him for me. Take him into the Cube and have Loker video tape it. Then send him home. We'll have a look at it later."

"Why aren't you doing the interview?" Gillian asked.

"Because I don't think your friend likes me very much. Did you see they way he started posturing when I challenged his authority? He got angry and then flashed contempt when I caught him in a lie."

Gillian thought for moment and nodded. "And he pulled his jacket together like he was trying to shield himself."

"Exactly. He'll be more relaxed if you interview him," Lightman said. "If he and I were in there together it would turn into an ego death match. He'd be lying all over the place just to prove that he's in control."

"So, what are you going to be doing?"

"I asked Loker to put together some background on Wilder's business ventures. I'm going back to my office to have a look at it." He headed for his office and said, "Find me when that tape is ready."

* * *

Cal stopped at the video lab and found Loker and Torres going over some news footage of Wilder talking about his company's donations. "What have you found so far?"

Loker spun around in his chair. "Well, we were able to dig up some old video footage which should give us a baseline for when we interview him."

"And we've been making some calls to the companies that Wilder deals with." Torres told him.

"That ought to cost us a few dollars," Lightman said.

Loker nodded. "Most of them are overseas."

"And?"

Torres handed him some notes. "I told them that we were thinking of investing in his firm. I asked for a lot of details, but no matter how hard I pressed I couldn't find anyone who had anything bad to say about him."

Lightman took the notes. "All right. Wilder's writing up a list of the most probable suspects right now. I told Foster to give the names to Reynolds when he's done." He pointed at Loker. "Then I want you to record Foster interviewing Wilder." He turned to Torres. "You focus on this video footage. Get into his head and get ready to analyze that footage with us later."

* * *

At the knock on his door Lightman looked up and waved Reynolds in. He took off his glasses, tossed them on his desk and grabbed the folder that Reynolds offered. "What'd you find?"

"Forensics says it's a no go on the fingerprints. The only ones they found on the envelope and the letter belong to Wilder, Foster and you."

"Me?" Cal asked innocently. "Now why would the FBI have my fingerprints on file?"

"Because you worked for the United States Government," Reynolds said dryly. He sat down and added, "It's probably best if we leave it at that."

"Fair enough." Lightman opened the folder and his eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. "Hello, there. Looks like Mr. Wilder hasn't been very forth coming about his financial status."

"His company has taken some financial hits lately, if that's what you mean," Reynolds said. "His stock has dropped quickly enough that he's on the radar of the Treasury Department. But, in this economy, so are a lot of other companies."

Lightman flipped through a few pages and said, "His company is deep in debt."

"Kind of like this place?" Reynolds asked.

"Oh, that's funny, that is."

Reynolds smiled. "Just because he's in debt doesn't mean he'd resort to something illegal to keep his company running."

Lightman looked up and stared across the desk. "Why not? I might."

"Now there's a conversation I want to steer clear of." Reynolds folded his arms across his chest. "Look, I have some feelers out to some friends in the Treasury Department and a few other places. If something sketchy is going on they'll let me know."

"All right," Lightman said. "Foster has a list of names for you to take a look at. Wilder's most likely suspects."

"I have it."

"Then what are you doing hanging around here?" Lightman asked. "Go on. Hop it. I've got work to do."

Reynolds shook his head and got up, heading for the door. When he was nearly there Lightman asked, "So why are Foster's fingerprints on file with the FBI?"

Reynolds spun on his heel and gave Lightman a sarcastic grin. "Because she's affiliated with you."

* * *

Cal was lounging on the couch in his study when Gillian walked in. The room was in shadow, lit only by a single floor lamp. His head was propped up on one arm of the sofa and his stockinged feet were crossed on the other. She watched as he slowly flipped through a book of faces, knowing that he was studying the expressions, examining every last detail and mentally cataloging the results for later reference.

She waited, enjoying seeing him in a moment of peace, but finally walked in and said, "It's late. Everyone else has gone home."

He let the book fall on his chest and glanced up. "I've been waiting for you, Luv."

"You knew I was still here?"

"Of course I did." He patted the edge of the sofa and she sat down. "Long day?"

She nodded. "Loker finished the tape a little while ago. He left it in case you wanted to watch it, but I think we should call it a day. We can look at it over coffee in the morning. It'll be good to have fresh eyes when we watch it."

Lightman rubbed her arm and then rested his hand there. "Sounds like an excellent plan."

After a long moment she asked, "Do you think he's lying?"

"I don't know."

She stared into his eyes. "Would you tell me if you did?"

Without hesitation he said, "No."

She slid her hand up until she was holding his, and gripped it in both of hers. "You don't have to protect me, Cal. If Winton is lying there's nothing I can do about it."

"I know."

"But you're going to try to protect me anyway."

He offered her an unapologetic shrug. "I'll always try to protect you. It's what I do."

She let the silence hang in the air between them. Finally she removed the book from his chest, stood up and gently pulled him from the couch. "Come on. It's late. We should go home." She looked around the room and sighed. "Where are your shoes now?"

* * *

"Can you stop it there?"

Cal Lightman stood staring at a frozen image of Winton Wilder superimposed on the large white-board in the video lab. Lightman had one hand shoved deep in his pocket while the other was absentmindedly playing with a dry erase marker. His head was tilted to one side as he studied the image before him.

"Back it up a bit." He watched the frames slowly go backward and finally said, "Right there. Stop it there."

At the console Loker manipulated the controls, waiting for instructions like a patient and faithful Labrador. He watched Lightman as carefully as he watched the video replay, eager to soak up anything he could learn.

"Play it forward again," Lightman instructed.

As the tape played, void of sound, the three people in the room remained just as silent. Suddenly, though, Lightman broke the quiet. "Freeze it!" He stepped closer to the board, peered at the image and then glanced back at his two protégés. "Do either of you see what I see?"

"You mean shame?" Torres asked.

"Exactly!" Lightman uncapped the dry erase marker and circled the area between Wilder's two eyes. The inside of both brow ridges were pulled down slightly, creating wrinkling where the skin bunched up. "What are they discussing there?"

"I had just asked him how well his business was doing," Foster said from the doorway.

They all turned to look at her. She was leaning against the doorframe, her arms folded over her chest and her head against the door. "He said, not well." She glanced at Torres and Loker. "Can we have the room a minute?"

When they left she looked at Cal and said, "I thought we were going to watch this together over a cup of coffee this morning?"

"The coffee's made." He tried to lay on the charm, knowing full well it wouldn't work. "Would you like me to ask Heidi to get you a cup?"

Despite herself Foster smiled. "No, I want to go through the video with you and I want you to tell me what you see."

"Well," he started, pointing to the circle on the white-board again. "He was telling the truth here when he answered you, even though he's not very happy about it."

Foster moved closer and said, "He looks sad."

"It's shame, actually." Cal turned to look at her. "He's ashamed of the fact that his company is in serious financial trouble."

"He never told me that."

"No, but the Treasury Department told Reynolds." Cal tossed the dry erase marker on a desk and said, "I've watched this video a half a dozen times this morning and I don't think he was lying to you about anything."

"That sounds like good news," Foster said.

"Unless you didn't ask the right questions."

"That doesn't sound like good news."

Cal offered a non-committal shrug.

She studied the close-up of Wilder's face for a moment. "I'm going to need coffee."

Lightman followed her out of the lab and into the break room and asked, "Why would Wilder be concerned about blackmail if he doesn't have any money to protect?"

"He's protecting the company and family reputation," Foster said. She poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Cal. "It's important to him."

"I get that," Cal said. "I really do. But is that it? I can't shake the feeling that Wilder's somehow pointing us in the wrong direction."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning the letter that Wilder received was threatening but unspecific. They sent copies of vague documents that lean toward money laundering, and yet by all appearances Wilder and his company are dead broke. He doesn't have any money to launder."

"Wait," Gillian said, over the rim of her mug. "You just said, 'by all appearances'."

Cal nodded. "What if he isn't laundering money. What if he's hiding it?"

"Why would you say that?"

"Yesterday when I first asked him if he had any idea who might be blackmailing him he said no, but he said that his company tries to funnel money to as many deserving organizations as possible."

"So?"

"So, that's an odd term for Wilder to use. Funneling implies shifting something through a small space. And when it's used in the way Wilder used it it's a slang term."

"But he doesn't use slang," Foster said. "His language is much more sophisticated."

Cal nodded. "He was out of his element and his language proves it. I think he meant it when he said the money's being funneled. I just don't think he meant to let it slip."

Gillian slowly lowered her mug. "I never asked him anything other than questions about blackmail and money laundering." She suddenly set her cup down and headed for the door.

Cal followed her out of the room. "Where are you off to?"

"To call Winton and tell him we need him to come in to answer some more questions."

As she went through the door to her office Cal said, "Whoa, whoa, whoa." He grabbed her hand just as she reached for the receiver of her phone. "Have Heidi do it."

"Why?"

"Because I want him to think this is strictly routine. Have her call him and tell him we have some information for him and that we have just a few more questions for him to answer."

"I can do that."

Cal raised an eyebrow and stared at her.

"Okay. I'll have Heidi do it." Gillian settled behind her desk and picked up the receiver, but before she called the front desk she looked at Lightman and asked, "You really watched that video six times this morning?"

He nodded and she said, "What time did you get in?"

Lightman shrugged. "Five."

"And Loker and Torres?"

Lightman just smiled and she said, "They must've been thrilled."

Lightman pointed at her. "Have Heidi make that call. I need to talk to Loker."

He turned and started down the hall and Reynolds came out of his office, falling into step. "You know that list of names that Wilder gave us?" he asked.

Lightman nodded and he continued. "I need to have a look at his employee files."

"Why?" Lightman asked.

"Because I don't think any of his most likely suspects are employees."

"So?"

"So, I've worked a lot of corporate blackmail cases in the past and I can't remember one where the victim didn't point his finger at an employee or former employee or two."

They turned into the Video Lab and Lightman asked, "Who's got Wilder's employee roster?"

Loker held it up and Lightman snatched it from his hand and handed it to Reynolds.

"Is this current employees or are past employees listed, too?" Reynolds asked.

"Past and present," Loker said. "It goes back about six years."

"That should do."

As Reynolds left Lightman turned back to Loker and asked. "How much file footage were you able to find on Wilder?"

Loker picked up a plastic cup filled with soda and started slurping the last of the remnants as he scrolled through a computer file. Finally he said, "I've got a fair amount. What do you need?"

"Anything recent?' Lightman asked. "Say over the past year or two?"

Loker checked the file again. "Most of it is. We really didn't go back more than two years after we realized he'd had that stroke."

Lightman just looked at him and nodded.

Finally Loker asked, "What?"

"That was smart thinking," Lightman told him.

"And that shocks you?" Loker asked.

"A bit." Lightman pointed toward the soda cup and said, "Get yourself some more caffeine and find Torres. I want you two to start studying that file footage."

"What are we looking for?" Loker asked.

"Shame," Lightman answered, and then he was out the door. He headed straight back to Foster's office and asked, "Well?"

"He'll be here late this afternoon."

Lightman glanced at his watch. "That doesn't give us much time."

"For what?" Foster asked.

"To bait the trap."

* * *

Two hours later Lightman was back in the lab. "So?"

Torres and Loker looked at each other and Loker said, "I haven't seen that many micro expressions of shame since the debates in the last presidential election."

"This guy's hiding something," Torres said.

"Yes he is," Lightman confirmed. "The question is, what? Can you put some clips together for me? Sort of the shameful highlights?"

"It'll take a couple of hours," Loker said.

Lightman nodded. "Just get it done. And throw some well-known faces in at the end. Use some from the last presidential elections, if you like."

As he left the lab Lightman nearly walked into Reynolds. The FBI agent looked at him and said, "You're going to love what I found."

"Oh, yeah? What's that?"

"None of the names that Wilder gave us are employees, or former employees as far as I can tell."

"And?" Lightman asked.

"None of them have criminal records either." Reynolds handed a file folder to Lightman. "But, Wilder has one irregularity in his employee files that raises a red flag. About a year ago he let his Chief Financial Officer go."

"So?" Lightman started down the hall, reading through the file as he went. "If there were financial problems that makes sense."

"Except that he let him go before the financial problems started, and now the guy is living a pretty rich life overseas."

The entered Lightman's office and Lightman fell into the chair behind his desk, eyes still glued to the file.

Reynolds took one of the seats at the front of the desk and said, "The kicker is that the CFO was a life-long friend of Wilder's. It seems their relationship dissolved pretty suddenly. They guy made good money, but looking at his personal finances he didn't make enough to live the life he's living now."

Lightman glanced up. "You think Wilder paid him off for some reason?"

Reynolds nodded. "And if he burned through his money quickly enough he may have come back looking for more."

"I just don't buy that this is blackmail," Lightman said.

"Why?"

"Because Wilder doesn't show any signs of fear. With him it's all about shame. And he was genuinely incensed when I accused him of money laundering at the restaurant the other day. His anger was legitimate."

"So? Maybe he feels like he lost control of the family empire and he feels bad about it."

"Maybe," Lightman said. He tossed the file onto his desk and said, "We'll know in a couple of hours. Wilder's coming back in for another interview, only this time I'm going to take a crack at him."

"You think maybe he'll tell you something he wouldn't tell Foster?" Reynolds asked.

Lightman thought about it a moment and said, "I think he wants to tell someone something, but that he lost courage with Foster."

* * *

"Cal?" Lightman had his back to his office, sitting behind his desk with his legs stretched out and his hands propped behind his head. He had a pair of headphones on and his head was bobbing along in time to the music he was listening to.

"Cal?" Foster called a little more loudly. When he didn't react she walked behind his desk and grabbed the headphones from his ears. "Cal!"

He spun around. "Eh?" He saw Foster standing there with his headphones in her hands and said, "Sorry. I was just…"

"Trying to go deaf?" Foster asked.

"Trying to get into my daughter's head, actually." He took the CD out of the portable stereo on his desk and slid it into its case. "It's one of Emily's. I found it in my car. It's not bad, really. A bit bluesy. She's got tremendous taste in music."

"So, you're finally taking some of my advice?"

"Yeah, well, if it's a choice between this and television, I'll take the music any day. Least if it's this good."

"Wilder's here." Foster said a bit hesitantly.

Lightman pushed his chair away from his desk and stood up. "Right then. It's show time."

"Loker has the video cued up in the lab whenever you're ready," Foster said. She stepped in front of him and brushed her hand along the front of his shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles and then adjusted the lapels of his jacket; a tactic she used whenever she needed to slow him down a bit. "Be nice to him, would you? He's old."

"Who, Loker?"

She stared at him. "You know who I mean."

"He's also hiding something from us, Luv." He took her by the shoulders to steer her out of his path. "It's time to find out what."

* * *

Loker had left Wilder in the Cube where the members of The Lightman Group could see in through the glass walls and hear everything that was said. But from the inside everything was opaque and soundproofed, essentially leaving those inside blind and deaf. At least until The Lightman Group wanted them to be able to see and hear.

Wilder seemed composed when Lightman entered the lab. He sat still, staring at the same invisible point on the wall. He didn't fidget, he just waited.

"Now that's unusual," Lightman mentioned.

"You mean how peaceful he is?" Torres asked.

"Yep." Lightman glanced at the junior member of the team. "Most people would be walking about, glancing around or, at the very least, picking their nose."

"You think he's given up?" Torres asked.

"Nah. He knows something's up, but a man like this doesn't just surrender." He tapped Loker on the back of the head and asked, "Ready?"

"Whenever you are."

Gillian was standing by the door and Cal walked past without saying a word. But as he left the room he reached out and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

They watched from the lab as Lightman entered the Cube. He tossed a file folder onto the table and sat across from Wilder, resting his elbows on the table and staring straight into the older man's eyes. "How are you today, Mr. Wilder?"

"I'm fine," Wilder said in a mild tone. He paused and asked, "Will Gillian be joining us today?'

"No," Lightman said shortly. He sat back in the chair, laying one arm along the table and crossing his legs casually. He offered Wilder a smile and said, "It's just you and me today."

Wilder matched Lightman's smile. "I was wondering when we'd get around to this."

"Really? Now why's that?"

Wilder leaned forward over the table, trying to mimic Cal's earlier posture and confidence. "Because you strike me as a man of action, Dr. Lightman. Very much the opposite of Gillian who is more prone to, well, let's just say that she's more inclined to use her manners. It's how she was raised."

"Yeah, well, I was raised in the jungle," Lightman told him. "Well, not when I was a kid or anything, but I've spent a lot of my adult life there, and manners don't get you very far when you have a blowgun or a spear pointed at your head. You're much better off to act quickly and honestly in that sort of an environment."

"I should think so," Wilder said. "So why don't we get to the point then?"

Cal's smile grew. "Why didn't you tell Dr. Foster about your company's financial difficulties?"

"Because she never asked, and because it didn't really seem to apply to your investigation."

Cal shrugged. "Everything applies until I decide it doesn't." He pushed the file closer to Wilder and said, "Remember how I told you the other day that I don't so much care that you do lie, it's more about why you lie?"

Wilder nodded and Lightman continued. "Well, I think that you're deliberately hiding something from us and I think it has something to do with your financial problems."

"And what makes you think that?" Wilder asked.

Lightman signaled to Loker and one wall of the Cube turned into a viewing screen. Wilder watched clips of himself talking about his company and his finances, and after several had flashed by Cal signaled to Loker again. The video stopped and an array of still shots of Wilder's face appeared on the wall.

Lightman walked over and pointed to a few of them, concentrating on the mouth and the brow line. "See anything in common?" he asked. He pointed to each again and then a series of photos of politicians replaced some of the stills of Wilder and Cal pointed out the similarities in expression. "The thing that all of these photos has in common is that the face on each of them is displaying one emotion, and one emotion only. Shame."

Lightman glanced at Wilder and saw the same expression on his face now. "The way you're pulling down the corners of your eyebrows and the way you're pursing your lips tells me that you're feeling that very same thing here in this room."

Cal slid back into the chair and leaned across the table toward Wilder. "The truth will set you free. It really will." He studied the man's face a moment and said, "What's happened to all your money? Eh? You don't strike me as a gambling man, but then again, I never really saw myself as one either."

Wilder shifted his eyes away and Lightman said, "No. Didn't think so." He tapped his finger on the table and said, "I doubt it's women. Not a man like you. So how about paying off your old friend and CFO?"

Wilder looked up sharply. "What do you mean, paying him off?"

Cal pointed at the folder and Wilder opened it. The top sheet was the report that Reynolds had put together on the former CFO of Wilder's firm. Wilder closed the folder and said, "I didn't pay him off. We had a parting of the ways and I gave him a generous severance package. He'd been a good friend and a good employee for years. He deserved it."

"So what caused your parting of the ways?' Lightman asked.

"We had a disagreement about how the company was being run. I'm getting older, my wife is dead and I have no heirs. I wanted to start getting my affairs in order and he wanted to keep the company running as it was."

"It's a bit odd that money started disappearing from the company just after he left," Cal said. "Is he the one who was blackmailing you? Is he the one who sent you that letter and those documents?"

"No." Wilder glared at Lightman across the table.

"No, what?" Cal challenged.

"No, he is not blackmailing me!"

"But he is the one who sent you that letter, isn't he?" Cal slapped one hand on the table to focus Wilder's attention. "He's the one who drew up those financial documents and sent them to you, isn't he?"

When Wilder didn't answer Cal slammed his hand down on the table harder and Wilder stood up and said, "Yes!"

Cal let a moment of silence stretch between them, and, as Wilder sank back down in his chair, Cal said, "Now we're getting somewhere."

"It's not blackmail," Wilder said.

"I didn't think it was," Cal told him.

"He was trying to protect me."

"From what?"

"From myself." Wilder glanced across the table. "From my own ego. I'm dying, Dr. Lightman, and I'm having a very hard time letting go of the control I've tried to hold onto when it comes to my family's legacy."

Cal's eyes shifted briefly to the wall. He thought about killing the audio, knowing that Gillian was hearing everything through the speakers in the lab, but he also knew her well enough to know that she would resent him if he tried to protect her too much.

"Go on," Lightman said.

"When I had my stroke two years ago the doctors told me that it was inevitable that I would have another. A catastrophic one." Wilder paused and said, "They think that it's a miracle that I have lived this long. It's an inoperable aneurism and my time is, quite literally, up.

"About a month ago my doctor told me that the aneurism had grown and that it could rupture at any moment. He told me to get my affairs in order. I was a little shocked. I had taken certain steps to ensure the family legacy, but I knew that I wouldn't be able to complete my plans. So I sent my financial records to my friend and he analyzed them for me."

Wilder stared across the table. "I want to be very clear when I say that he did nothing illegal. But, when he looked things over he realized that I had made some strategic errors in my finances and that if the government looked into it it might look like I was laundering money. He urged me to stop immediately, and he begged me to let him come back to try to set things right. But I refused."

"Why?" Lightman asked.

"Because I knew that there was no way he could resolve this before I died, and I did not want him to take the fall for me."

"Exactly what were you doing with the money?" Cal asked.

"I was hiding it in offshore accounts," Wilder said. "I had hired a new accountant, out of the country, to set up trust funds for several of the relief organizations that my family has supported over the years."

"That's honorable," Lightman said. "But why get Gillian involved?"

Wilder smiled. "Because I wanted someone who I could trust to investigate this after my death, to prove that I had not been deliberately doing anything illegal, and to ensure that the government didn't try to block the trust funds that I had established."

After a moment Cal nodded and said, "Will you excuse me for a moment?"

He stood up and left the Cube, and as he walked out the door he saw Gillian waiting for him. He shook his head slowly and said, "I'm sorry, Luv."

Gillian shrugged and said, "It doesn't matter. I…" She stopped and then glanced down the hall. "Reynolds is in the lab listening to all of this. I asked Torres to get him. He wants to talk to Winton alone. He says that if we can prove that there was no intentional wrong doing he'll take it to the Treasury Department and help try to get it resolved."

"All right," Lightman said. He studied her face for a moment and asked, "Do you want to see him first?"

She nodded and Cal stepped aside to let her past.

* * *

Early the next morning Gillian Foster walked into her partner's office at The Lightman Group. She found Cal lounging back in his chair, staring at the door as if he were waiting for her. He made no move when she entered so she sat on the edge of his desk and said, "Reynolds is going to take Winton to see a friend at the Treasury Department this morning."

Cal nodded. "That's good."

"He says that for the first time in a long time he woke up this morning and felt a sense of hope."

"He's being too hard on himself," Cal said. "He tried to do the right thing. Besides, we all have things that we're ashamed of, but most of us have the time to sort things out and make them right. We're not all facing the same type of deadline he is."

"Too bad most people don't take advantage of the time that they have while they have it," Gillian said.

Cal nodded slowly, staring at Gillian, and finally asked, "What are you doing for dinner tonight?"

She smiled. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you owe me a meal."

"How do you figure that? You're the one that walked out on lunch the other day. Not to mention that I brought you back my leftovers."

"Doesn't count," Cal told her. He shoved away from his desk and stood up, heading for the door of his office. "I'll pick you up about six. And don't forget to wear your dancing shoes."

"My what?" Gillian grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop.

"Your dancing shoes," he said. "After dinner we're taking Emily to a concert. I got her tickets to see one of her favorite bands, and I thought that, seeing as this father-daughter bonding experience was all your idea in the first place, you ought to come along and join us." "Cal," she gave him a panicked look.

"What?"

"I haven't danced in a long time."

"Well, it's not that kind of dancing, Luv. There's no real form to it. It's more about just throwing your body around a bit." He gave her a broad smile. "It'll be fun."

"For who?"

"For Emily," he said as he started back out of the office. "I think she'll enjoy watching us make fools of ourselves."

"Cal…"

He spun around and looped an arm around her shoulders. "You see, you have to immerse yourself in their culture if you want to understand teenagers. Isn't that right? Eh?"

She glared at him and he nodded. "That's what I thought."

- The End


End file.
